Between two departures
by neo-ransom
Summary: What did Frodo get up to when he was Master of Bag End?
1. Old Oak Brewery

Chapter 1  
  
Old Oak Brewery  
  
Nowhere was the departure of Bilbo more keenly felt than at the Old Oak Brewery.  
  
Not only had Bilbo been a frequent casual visitor to most of the local ale- houses, but he had a standing order for delivery each month of one crate of stout (in pint bottles) and two crates of ale (in half-pint bottles), as well as a firkin of draught cider. No-one who visited Bilbo could complain of being parched.  
  
Not that Bilbo was by any means a heavy drinker, though he liked to wash down his simple meals of bread and cheese or mushroom pie with a jug of ale. But he had a lot of friends, not a few of whom staggered home tipsy from time to time.  
  
Of course, in the build up to the eleventy-first party, Old Oak had been busier than ever, and had had to buy in beer from breweries far and wide across the Shire, bringing in fine old stout from Barleyman Brothers, bitter from Ind Coope, and mild beer from Mondonmouth Eversure. Cider they always bought in from the many little orchards where it was fomented, but for the party they had to buy in from as far away as Bree.  
  
In the days after the party, the Old Oak was kept busy as all the very young hobbits brought back the empties and pocketed the copper coins – 10 bottles a penny. But once a week had passed, and the excitement was, well, if not forgotten, at least out of the forefront of everyone's minds, there was a feeling throughout most of Hobbiton that everything should start getting back to normal.  
  
At the brewery, however, the partners, Ogar and Jaker, sat discussing by how much they should reduce their normal brew. "We should be all right if we cut down by 8 hogsheads of stout and 3 butts of ale" opined Ogar. "Let's try that for now," replied Jaker, "but what about mild beer? We could probably cut that by 2 butts too?" "I think so," said Ogar.  
  
They were sitting around a queer-shaped table – it was on two levels, and had been made to cater for the fact that the two partners were from different species – Ogar was a hobbit, but Jaker was a man. When Ogar had inherited the Old Oak brewery from his father, Frugar, he was just fifteen, and his father hadn't taught him anything about the business side of things. Ogar had know how to make beer, but not how to sell it, so he had put word around that he needed a partner.  
  
Jaker, who was a Jack of all trades, but at heart a dealer, had heard about this at the weekly market at CrouchHouse Green, where he was dealing in leather coats at the time. They had come to an agreement where Jaker did all the buying of malt and hops, and all the selling to the ale-houses, and Ogar did all the actual brewing. Jaker took no wages, but Ogar paid him one gold coin for every three the business made.  
  
They sat quietly, each smoking a long clay pipe. They were poring over the account books.  
  
"Perhaps his young nephew, Frodo or whatever his name is, will fill the breach," offered Jaker encouragingly. "Yes, that's worth thinking about" said Ogar. "Perhaps we could deliver the usual amount of crates, and then send one of the 'prentices around a few days later with the account. He might just keep on paying."  
  
Frodo wasn't quite such a chump as to fall for that one, however. He sent his gardener, Sam, down to the brewery to tell Jaker that his requirements would be considerably less than Bilbo's, thank you very much, and he would have to compare the prices with those of White Downs Maltings before deciding whether to continue using Old Oak. This was a bit of a fib, actually, as Frodo thought Ogar's beer the finest in all the Shire.  
  
In the end, new arrangements were made, with Frodo ordering a little less than before, and getting a slightly lower price, and Frodo quite forgot about Ogar and Jaker. Ogar was happy enough, too - he was still selling to Bag End and all of the ale-houses around, and he soon slipped back into a comfortable routine.  
  
Jaker, however, hadn't enjoyed having to make concessions to the young hobbit, and resolved to get his own back one day.  
  
Sam, too was unsettled by it all. He didn't like unpleasantness, and he didn't like dealing with Jaker. It was Jaker who came around once a month to collect the money for the account. He never counted the money Sam handed him, he just jingled the coins in his hand and slipped them in his pocket. He always tousled Sam's hair in an over-familiar way, then tipped his feathered hat and said "Thank you, young master" in a tone which Sam felt showed he didn't think of him as a master at all.  
  
From time to time, Jaker would go on what he called his "little sales trips" – he would leave Ogar and the brewery for a week or so, to call on the publicans in the farther villages of the Shire, like Pincup, Brokenboring or Whitfurrows, or sometimes even across the Brandywine River to Newbury or Standelf. It seemed to Ogar that it would be rather hard to service the ale-houses so far away, but Jaker pointed out that he might be able to sell some of the really strong bottled ales that would keep for years – and fetch a higher price.  
  
Sometimes he came back with an order, sometimes not. But he seemed to enjoy the trips, and Ogar could manage without him for short periods. Ogar quite enjoyed being the feeling of being wholly in charge. Although he'd relied on Jaker to deal with the business side of things when he'd first had to manage without his father, with time he got more confident, and began to feel that he could do without Jaker. He began to take rather a dislike to Jaker, and what he'd at first admired in him, like the way he dealt firmly with customers who had complaints, he began to see as bullying. In fact, he couldn't help thinking that Jaker rather bullied him. Perhaps it wasn't surprising for, as well as being a man who knew all about business, he was also a man, and Ogar was a hobbit. 


	2. A Little Sales Trip

Chapter 2  
  
A little sales trip  
  
Jaker rode along the Great East Road beside the Water without stopping at any of the villages on the way. He crossed the Brandywine Bridge at a gallop. But instead of turning south to Newbury and the rest of Buckland after he'd crossed, he rode straight on, skirting the Great Wood, as though he were heading for Bree.  
  
But he wasn't headed for Bree. Just as the Great Wood to his right was petering out into bushes and scrub, he pulled up his horse. He took out a spy-glass from his coat pocket, spat on the eye-piece, rubbed it on his kerchief, put it to his left eye. He scoured the edge of the wood, clearly searching for something or someone. After a while he pocketed the spyglass, gave his horse the spurs, and cantered off purposefully in the direction of the Wood.  
  
As he came closer to the edge of the Wood, two figures left the canopy of the trees and stood waiting. Both were men, or at least man-like – sometimes it paid to look very closely before characterising anyone as a man in this part of Middle-Earth. Anyway, they were of a man's height and bearing, and were dressed in the rough leather tunics and woollen trousers that were almost like a uniform among the men who burnt charcoal in the Wood for a meagre living.  
  
"Halloo, Jaker," cried the taller of the two, who had the coarser features, "you're a little late this time." "And what if I am?" Jaker responded, "I have a lot further to travel than you two."  
  
"It's hard for us, too" said the other. "We had to slip out of Bree unnoticed, and trek here on foot because there's not a horse to be had in Bree for love nor money." The speaker had a soft voice, and, despite the rough clothes, topped with a dull grey cowl, was clearly a woman.  
  
"So you're the third member of Armfast's cell, are you?" asked Jaker, thoughtfully. "I didn't know the brotherhood recruited women." He didn't seem impressed. "Cantian is as strong as most men" responded Armfast, "and twice as cunning, I'll vouch. Anyways, how and why the brotherhood recruits is neither your business or mine. So long as when the Chief give the order to rise up, we all do rise up, that's all that matters."  
  
"Happen you're right" replied Jaker. "Anyhow, what have you got for me today? Any orders for ale from hereabouts? My "partner" is getting a bit uppity, asking what comes of my trips."  
  
"Well, as it happens, I can help you with that" said Cantian, softly. "I work at the "Prancing Pony" in Bree, and I've jawboned the innkeeper there to try some of your 'Heartstarter' in the outer bar."  
  
"Very good," replied Jaker, seeming quite impressed, "now, Armfast, what about the real business of the day? Is your new recruit going to be any help there, too?"  
  
"I'm not his 'new recruit', thankyou" snapped Cantian. "Armfast told me you were 'all mouth and trousers', and it seems he was right. I brought him into the brotherhood, and he brought you. We needed someone who could join in the everyday life of the Shire, and hold down a job with the locals – most of our members are fighters, not dealers or tradesmen."  
  
"I can fight when needs be" growled Jaker.  
  
"I've no doubt you could, but we've got plenty better than you for that, I'm thinking," said Armfast. "Anyway, give us your report – has anything unusual been happening in Hobbiton?"  
  
"Well, everything's been very quiet since that Old Man Baggins went away" Jaker started. "How long ago was that?" asked Cantian. "Oh, let's see now, it would be half a year, at least, now. Our sales were down for a month or so, but they're beginning to build back up again. There's been a number of strangers passing through, just peat-burners, mainly, and other folks and creatures as find jobs where they can, in the orchards or the granaries."  
  
"Has this Baggins fellow been back at all?" asked Cantian, casually. "Not at all" replied Jaker. "But his nephew keeps a good house, so we haven't lost that trade completely."  
  
"I'm not interested in your blasted trade!" snapped Cantian. "It's reports I want, reports of the folk in the Shire, and anyone passing through. These passers-through you were talking of, you called them 'folk and creatures' - are they not men?"  
  
"All right, keep your hair on," ventured Jaker. "They are men, mostly, though some are women, of course. But there are a few that seem like half- men, half ... something else. Not Orc, of course, that would be too horrible to think of" – Armfast gave Cantian a momentary glance at this point, but she didn't respond – "but they look like no men I've ever seen before, powerful big folk they are, and ugly as sin."  
  
"In Hobbiton, are they?" asked Armfast. "Not yet," replied Jaker, "only in the outer hamlets. They seem to steer clear of the larger villages. Probably don't want to attract attention from the bailiffs."  
  
"Well, don't concern yourself too much about them," put in Cantian. "You're there to watch the locals, the hobbits. What do you think of them as creatures, anyway?"  
  
"I don't mind 'em, really," said Jaker. "Merry little fellows, most of them, only interested in food and drink, it seems. They don't mind work, I'll have to say that. But some of them get my back up. My 'partner', for one, always checking on me, and won't back me up if I get a bit firm with the customers. And that Frodo, Old Man Baggins' nephew, and his gardener. The nephew's a bit too elf-like in his ways for my liking. And the gardener's just a big hairy lump, but he can be quarrelsome."  
  
"What do you mean, 'elf-like'?" asked Cantian keenly, "please explain." "Well, it's hard to put your finger on it, really," started Jaker, fumbling with his cap, "it's just that he seems to slip into view from nowhere, so to speak – I could be sitting at my desk totting up some figures, quite alone in the office, when all of a sudden there he is, right in front of me, asking all natural-like about how the mash is going or something."  
  
"Well, just keep an eye on him," said Cantian, appearing to dismiss the matter from her thoughts. "Well, I'd better be getting back to Bree, and you two to your places" she said, briskly.  
  
"I'd like to know a bit more about the Chief sometime" said Jaker, as Cantian made to slip away. "No doubt you would," replied Cantian, "so would we all. But none of the brotherhood knows who he is – or at least, only three folk do – that's the way the brotherhood works, each of us only knows three others. That's how we keep the brotherhood secret. I get my orders from – well, from someone, and use you two to help me if I need you. Then Armfast has two others that he looks after...."  
  
"And what about me? Jaker retorted, "when do I get to recruit someone?" "When I tell you to" snapped back Cantian, "and don't be too anxious, you might be sorry when it comes to it."  
  
Jaker slunk off. "Same time next month" Armfast called out after him. Jaker looked as if he were thinking to himself "Not if I see you first." 


	3. Plans for a Jolly Evening

Chapter 3  
  
Plans for a jolly evening  
  
"How are we off for leaf, Sam?" Frodo sat on the old bench outside Bilbo's old place. From there he could watch the goings-on in Hobbiton, such as they were, he could gaze at the clouds as though looking for meaning, or simply watch Sam pottering about in the garden. Right now he was pulling some wurzels for a stew.  
  
"I got hold of half a pound of flake from the Bracegirdles a few days ago" said Sam, standing up and rubbing the small of his back vigorously. "Right good it is too – I tried a pipeful before buying it. Not that it isn't always goo, mind, they know how to fill a pipe, all right."  
  
"They sure do, Sam," said Frodo, smiling. "Now, Sam, I think Merry and Pippin might come round this evening to help me eat up some of these wonderful vegetable you're growing for me here. I'm a stone goblin if you aren't a better gardener than old Gaffer Gamgee."  
  
"I don't know about that, Master Frodo," said Sam, blushing visibly, but clearly pleased, "He's been a doing of it longer than I care to think. But I do my best, and that's a fact."  
  
"Well, I only know what I see and what I see is a store-house full of wurzels and pumpkins and pickled plums and dried plums and plum jam – even salted plums. And, of course, all the nuts as well. You do a great job, Sam. But what I was going to ask was, how is the cellar?"  
  
"I think we might be getting a bit low on ale, Master Frodo," Sam replied. He looked rather uncomfortable. "Why, whatever is the matter, Sam?" asked Frodo, serious for once.  
  
"Well, it's like this, Sir," Sam answered, "I don't rightly know why, but that Jaker always puts me in a state. I'm not used to dealing with men, I suppose, for we don't see many of them in there parts. But it's not just that. He always seems to look at me kind of queer, like."  
  
"What do you mean, 'queer-like', Sam?" asked Frodo. "Well, he has these kind of piercing eyes," replied Sam, pulling on his earlobe, "and when he looks at you it's like he can see right through to what you're thinking. And since I know as how what I'm thinking is how quickly I can get away from him, it makes for a nasty to-do altogether."  
  
"But are you frightened of him, my sturdy farmer?" asked Frodo, still serious despite the play on Sam's trade. "Well, not frightened of a fight, I suppose, Master Frodo" answered Sam, "for I think I could give as good as I get, no matter that he's half as big again as me. No, it's more that he can best me in any kind of dealing or argument. Like if he was to give me five barrels instead of six, and I was to tell him he was wrong, he'd find some way of making me look in the wrong. That kind of thing. They say he used to work in the markets all over the Wilder lands, and I don't doubt he knows all the tricks of how to muddle poor country folk, and especially hobbits."  
  
"Well, I'm sorry you haven't told me about this before, Sam," said Frodo thoughtfully. "Anything else that's bothering you?"  
  
"Not really, Master Frodo," Sam replied. "Though My Gaffer was telling me that he heard down at the Half-Moon that there's been some more of them palemen around." "Palemen?" quizzed Frodo. "Yes, Sir, that's what the hobbits out in the outer villages call them. They look like men, but then again they don't. Awful big, they are, or so they say, and buck-ugly, and deathly pale. I hear they get up to bits of mischief, stealing from folk's gardens and the like, though nothing serious like hurting no-one. And they like their ale. But they're very restless, folk say, and they don't stay in one place very long"  
  
"Well, I should like to see one of these palemen one day," said Frodo. "But right now I want to settle this business with Jaker. If you're so uncomfortable about seeing him, I'll go myself. What do we need, Sam?"  
  
"Oh, just a crate each of stout and of cider," replied Sam, "but you needn't mind about Jaker today – he's gone off on one of his jaunts."  
  
"Jaunts, eh?" said Frodo. "Where does he go, Sam?" "Oh, all over," replied Sam, "he calls them his 'sales trips' but I hear Ogar thinks they're more like holidays."  
  
"He probably just misses being among men – he must get tired of having to look down on us hobbits" offered Frodo. "Look down on us is right, I'm minding, said Sam. "I don't know why he ever came here if he likes us so little."  
  
"Oh, don't take on so," said Frodo, "let's........" He broke off at that point. Along the road there came two men, or, thought Frodo to himself, they must be palemen. They were the same height as Jaker, but much more swarthy across the shoulders. Their features were coarse, and they were pale as death. As they approached, it seemed as though a sudden chill was in the air.  
  
"Could you spare us some coins, good Sir?" asked the older-looking of the two, "we're just passing through." "Be gone with you," replied Sam angrily, "and don't go scaring honest folk like that."  
  
"Don't look for offence where none is intended" said Frodo. Sam looked doubtful. "Here's two silver coins," he said to the one who'd spoken, "make sure you buy bread as well as beer." "You're a real noble hobbit" replied the paleman, doffing his cap, "my son is sick, and he needs something more than the plants I've collected in the forest to make him well again."  
  
"We don't have a healer in Hobbiton any more," said Frodo, concerned. "You'll have to go further on, to Bywater." "That's where we're a-going anyway," said the paleman, "we never stay anywhere long. Is there any little service we can do for you before we go?"  
  
"Well, you could tell us a little about yourselves and your – cousins, shall we say, in the other villages around. I hear tell that some of you have been getting into trouble? Stolen hens and lost potatoes and so on?" Frodo seemed to speak as gently as anyone could when asking a question like that.  
  
"Our kind are no worse than others when it comes to stealing," replied the paleman, "but oftentimes we get blamed for what was a wolf or an owl or a rabbit, or sometimes even a hobbit ..." here he looked sideways at Sam. "I en't been doing no thieving!" cried Sam angrily.  
  
"No, I'm sure you haven't, I meant no offence," continued the paleman. "But people take on about us because of how we look, you see. And we can't help that. It's the Murrain."  
  
"Murrain?" quizzed Frodo, "what's that?" The paleman sighed. "It is the blight that fell upon my people. We don't know where it came from, but it sucks the colour out of us, and those of us that get it can no longer have children."  
  
"But that's dreadful!" cried Frodo. Even Sam looked sympathetic.  
  
"Is it something that you can pass on?" asked Frodo, hesitantly. "Oh, no, good Sir, you don't have to worry on that account. But our people, once one of us falls under the blight, they drive us away, you see. That's why we're travellers."  
  
"Well, I'd like to do more to help you," said Frodo, "but I have no need of anyone apart from my gardener. Perhaps there might be work for you in the village? At the smithy, or the brewery? I could put in a word for you with Ogar or Jaker at the brewery, if you like?"  
  
At the name of Jaker, the two palemen looked thunderstruck.  
  
[to reviewers Luth, FB & BB: I have to take a few days off to care for my daughters – N-R] 


End file.
